narrownights

Title: Enough
Fandom: Encanto
Pairing: Alma and Pedro
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for the end of Encanto
Summary: The moment Alma's life shifts for the better, and the moment it shifts for the worst.
Prompt: 100 Fandom Challenge #1 - Universe
Word Count: 1144

For nine long months, everyone had been warning Alma about how difficult it was being a new mother. ‘You’ll never sleep,’ they warned, their hands pressing to her bump, uninvited. ‘You’ll never be able to keep all three fed and happy,’ they prophesied, making her feel naked and uncertain. ‘Children are expensive, aren’t you worried about money?’ They asked. “Ouch,” one of her friends said when Alma told her it was triplets.

But then her perfect babies slipped from her after only two hours of labour, each one tiny and beautifully formed, each of them with a healthy cry. Even the midwife seemed impressed when she placed each blessing in Alma’s arms. A new love bloomed in her chest, filled her completely as the axis of her universe tilted.

Each baby was unique. Julieta ate the best. Pepa cried a lot, but just as quickly her mood would shift to joy, and her giggles more than made up for her volatile tantrums. Bruno slept so soundly that Pedro joked he was lost in his dreams.

Three was a lot but not too many: there were four arms between the two of them, and their lives were golden and perfect. Alma lowered a sleeping Julieta into the crib between her siblings. The babe shifted and stuck a thumb in her mouth, smiling sweetly around it.

“Oh, look, Pedro!” Alma whispered, swooning with motherly adoration. When he didn’t immediately join her, she felt her smile slip into a pout. She wandered from the nursery to the window where Pedro stood. Something stirred in her as she watched him. How had she gotten so lucky? He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. It had only been three months since the triplets were born, but already she wanted another. They had another arm to hold one, after all.

“Pedro?” She asked, and reached for him. He was stiff, unbending as he glared at something out the window. She peered around him. “What are you looking at...?” She trailed off. Her breath came in one ragged gasp as she saw what had frozen him.

Soldiers. Too many for the little village to fend off. They descended upon those in the streets like hounds on the hunt, the normal peaceful sounds of the village descending into screams of pain and terror. Fire caught in a house and it was engulfed all at once. Orange embers floated into a bed of hay for the donkeys and caught too. The poor creature screamed in terror and broke free, scattering into the fray.

In the house, a baby erupted into cries. Alma knew without looking it was Bruno.

Pedro looked at her, all his thoughts conveyed through a single nod.

She collected their three treasures and put them in a sling across her neck. Bruno quieted under her shushing, and Pepa and Julieta barely roused. Their worlds were perfect, wonderful places. Pedro appeared in the doorway with a pack. They hadn’t been expecting the soldiers to attack the village, but there had been rumours, stories that set Pedro on edge and made Alma want to close her ears. They’d set aside some provisions months ago, before the triplets were even born, but there had been no true concern that they would need them. Tragedies like this happened to someone else.

Outside, the screaming grew closer.

The back door opened silently and Alma ran from the house, Pedro hot on her heels, and ducked into the tree line. They moved quietly and quickly; how many times over the years had they come to the river? They knew the way, even in the dark.

At the edge of the river was a small group who had the same thoughts. No one spoke. Silently, they began to move as one through the dark, only the orange glow of torches casting shadows into the overgrown foliage. Every time a twig snapped or a leaf rustled, the group would swing towards it without stopping, torches raised.

They trudged onward. The night stretched long, until morning was little more than a dream. Once, Bruno began to fuss, but Julieta stuck her thumb in his mouth and he calmed. The border grew closer. Dawn crept in, and though the black of night did not ease, the birds began to sing in the branches. Alma took a deep breath of relief.

Then it happened.

Thundering hooves descended on them as the soldiers broke through the treeline a few hundred feet back. Someone screamed. Their group shattered, splitting into pieces like shards of glass. Alma clutched all three of her babies. She only had two hands. Pedro turned to her. Smiled. The horses drew nearer, the smell and sounds of them washing over her like a wave. He kissed her sweetly. The press of his lips did not linger as he moved down to firmly kiss each of the little heads nestled into Alma’s chest.

Then he whispered, “Run,” turned away, raised his arms, and tried to reason with the monsters who had stolen their home. She couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear anything over her own heartbeat, the rising voices of her babies crying for their father, for their home.

She screamed before they reached him. She fell to her knees at the moment of impact. Her universe shifted again. A black hole opened in her. The future fell from her arms like a bushel of oranges, dreams rolling away too quickly to catch. They passed Pedro, made a beeline for her, on the ground, her babies clutched to her.

The world went silent. Her love would not be extinguished. Pedro had not died for nothing. She was not nothing. The light of dawn washed over her. Not dawn, she realized, but candle light. It erupted from before her like a wave, knocking the soldiers back. The earth shifted, walls growing strong around her, pulling the valley closed behind it. A house, a home, a fortress, grew up and grew out, the kind of place Pedro would have built her one day, if he wasn’t....

No.

Alma gathered her babies in one arm and took up the candle that had formed before her with her other. Wax dripped warm down it, kissing her knuckle.

People murmured behind her.

“You saved us,” someone said. Alma had been changed, deified through Pedro’s death. The survivors looked to her. Her perfect babies nestled into her. Responsibility wrapped around her throat like a collar and pulled tight. She straightened her back. Let the warm candle dry the tears on her cheeks, and addressed the crowd.

“This house is magic,” she said. “The Madrigal house will keep us all safe.” She had to stretch, but all three babies fit in her one arm. With the other she gripped the magic candle tight. She would make sure everything was perfect.

What other choice did she have?